Heart's Thread
by Story Please
Summary: Severus Snape has a hell of a morning thanks to a soulmate spell that affects the entire Wizarding World. When he is pulled through a strange portal, will he truly find his soulmate, or is it simply another lie to shatter his fractured heart?


Note: Written for Vampiric's Red String of Fate Challenge.

Premise: What happens when everyone wakes up to find a red string linking them to their soulmate?

Word Count (must be 2,000+): 12,260

Author's Note: TW: Some mentions of rape and non-consensual sexual activity (not graphic)

* * *

**Heart's Thread**

The hooded figure trudged slowly through the snow-choked darkness, a ring of magical fairy lights floating in a circle like a multi-coloured will-o-the-wisp. The dampening effect of the snow and the stillness of the surrounding area only served to enhance the unnatural energy that grew in the endless night.

Finally, they stopped; the snow-choked path ended in a drift of snow that appeared ready to swallow the figure whole. The hood tilted upward, not revealing the face of the traveler, and they beheld the tips of black stone that poked out in a circle before them.

A staff was pulled from seemingly nowhere and raised- a jagged crystal bound to its tip. A small cut was slit across a finger and small splatters of blood dripped onto the snow.

"With this gift of blood and holy stone," the figure whispered, and the crystal began to glow, "may the Old Rules be invoked. Reveal to all the heat of hearts to guide them to their twin."

With a grunt, the figure plunged the staff—crystal down—into the blood-stained snow, and a scarlet shockwave radiated outward in all directions, blowing the trees back and purging the snow from the circle of black stone monoliths that had been all but covered before. Runes glowed faintly in red, then faded until the stone was cold and dark once more.

The figure raised a wand made of white birch and Apparated away with a crisp cracking sound just as flakes of snow began to fall down from the cloud-choked sky.

* * *

Severus was in the middle of a lovely dream involving a new potion that would rid the world of idiots for good when he was pulled abruptly from his bed. He landed on the freezing floor, one hand grasping onto his duvet for dear life, but it was no use. Instantly, he summoned his wand into his right hand and cast a Lumos spell, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh. He tended to keep things rather cold in his bedroom out of long-practiced habit. Oddly enough, whatever had pulled him out of bed seemed to be tugging gently on his left hand. When he raised his wand to check, he saw the oddest thing.

There, on his left ring finger was a blood-red woven band, which was tied at its center in an intricate knot. It appeared to be made of some sort of string, though Severus could not touch it or remove it from his finger. He tried pulling at it this way and that, but it remained stuck fast around his finger. A single thread of the string trailed down his arm and onto the floor, where it snaked under his door. Severus made a highly displeased sound, and began to cast all manner of spells in an attempt to identify the bloody thing. When he attempted to grasp at it with his other hand, his fingers passed through the string, yet it tugged at him insistently, and all attempts to climb back into his bed only led to another harsh landing on the frigid floor.

"Fine, you bloody menace! You win!" Severus shouted at his finger. He knew that whatever the string was was not conscious in any way, but yelling made him feel a little better, and he hastened to dress himself.

As he did so, he observed how the string interacted with clothing, which was to say not at all. It was insubstantial in all ways except for the part where it would tug him along impatiently if he tried to tarry any longer than it took to complete an essential task.

Severus glanced at his calendar on the way out. The word _Imbolc_ was written in his spidery hand next to the date. A sketch of two plants accompanied it with an exclamation point.

Of _course_. He'd meant to go out to gather snowdrops and blackthorn from the Forbidden Forest. After all, it was said that these ingredients would be far more potent in potions when picked on this day. While Severus wasn't particularly superstitious about the potency, it was important to gather all he could before all of the revelers in Hogsmeade decided to pick the forest clean for their festivities.

He stumbled to the front of his apothecary and wrote a hasty note to stick on the front door.

"Out. Back soon." The base of his finger was beginning to burn as the string pulled at him insistently.

His scrawl was awful, but it would have to do.

He affixed it to the inside of the window with a Sticking charm and stepped out into the street.

* * *

It was chaos. People staggered around, all with the half-awake, quickly-dressed stupor that Severus shared. Most of them, he noted, were worse off than he was. As he shuffled down the street, the red string giving him absolutely no relief from its maddening tugging, he realized that many were throwing Warming Charms on their stocking feet to protect them from the icy cold outside.

"Well," he grumbled, "at least I'm not the only one-WATCH OUT YOU IMBECILES!"

As the string pulled him along the snowy street, he only barely managed to steer clear of a group of several witches and wizards being pulled in the opposite direction like a bunch of earthbound balloons.

Severus realized that he couldn't see their strings, though he could see his own, and he also noticed that the string, for all the physical discomfort it was providing his finger, was not catching on things or people. Severus supposed that the knots created by thousands of seemingly impervious red strings of dubious origin twisting themselves around everything in the Wizarding World would have been catastrophic to say the least.

Whoever was at fault (and Severus was not naive enough to believe that this had been done by accident) was still at the top of his hex-list, though.

A bright column of blue light shot into the sky only a few streets over.

"What the—" Severus shielded his eyes. Then, as he turned a corner, another column shot up to his left. Severus felt his clothing and hair whip wildly around him as the blast of light hit the ground. Then, as he turned back to look in front of him, he saw a gaping hole of nothingness before him. It was as though a hole had been ripped in reality, revealing an oily darkness beneath. The other end of the string attached to his finger was sticking out of the middle of it, and it tugged even harder on him as he approached it.

Severus balked, pulling away and zig zagging from side to side away from it like a fish caught on a line.

It was no good.

Refusing to go quietly into an unknown abyss, Severus shouted at the string yet again in futile rage. "Merlin's Ba—"

With a sound like a cork being pulled quickly from a bottle, Severus Snape disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.

* * *

_Alone._

Severus turned in darkness, his chest throbbing with the truth of it.

_Always alone. In life, in death. In between._

A flash of red.

_The damn thread again. _

It pulled and went slack.

He fought it. There was no other possible outcome.

He'd forgotten long ago what it was not to fight.

_No. _

_The only thread he could think of had fallen to dust long ago._

_Wrong_, said his heart.

Pressure.

A momentary flash of light. Darkness again.

Severus opened one eye.

He saw red. _Literally_. Red string wrapped around every inch of his body tighter and tighter until he felt it cut to his core. There was no sound. Only the thickness of fluid pressing against him and the agony of the string pulling him tight.

He did not bleed.

He wanted to scream, but nothing escaped his lips as they too were bound far more tightly than he could comfortably breathe and he burned with lack of breath yet still he did not die. His chest pulsed and ached with an unending fire, and he soon found that he was willing to do anything—anything at all—to quiet its roar. It beat with an insatiable hunger in his chest, and in the darkness he cried out.

He could hear a muffled voice over the sound of his blood pounding in his ears, and suddenly hands were grabbing him, cradling his body and pulling—pulling at the threads until they loosened and burst and with a horrible wet sound he felt himself being pulled out of the void and collapse, naked, on top of his rescuer. Vapor steamed around them and the metallic tang of blood filled his nose as he lay as weak as a newborn, his legs splayed out, pale and hairy before him. A hand stroked his matted hair, and despite his confusion he felt his body grow pleasantly still and relaxed under the pressure of this unknown touch.

"Shhh, don't worry. I've got you," said a soft and oddly familiar voice. "Oh dear. You're burning up."

Severus tried to open his eyes, but before he could so much as pry them apart, a cool cloth was pressed over them and then he heard her singing softly. There was something about the notes— familiar yet alien, and then, before he could realize what it was doing to him, his mind slipped away into sleep.

* * *

It had been a terrible accident. That's what everyone said, and for a long time, Hermione believed them. When she had finally regained consciousness, Harry and Ginny were looking down at her with concerned expressions, and Hermione couldn't move her body. The last thing she could remember was walking with Ron after their anniversary dinner. There'd been a noise behind her, she'd turned, and...nothing.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Ginny had said, but she'd looked so _sad_ and Hermione had to lie there, powerless, while Ginny told her about the Death Eater who'd killed her boyfriend.

"We...we couldn't save him," Harry said, his mouth a grim line, and Hermione could tell he wasn't quite telling the truth, but he wasn't lying.

They said she was lucky. The damage that the _Cruciatus_ had wreaked upon her body would heal. Her mind, however, was another story. She found herself losing time. Sometimes she would stare out the window, blink, and it would be night. She forgot simple things. Her long term memories were fuzzy, but her short term memories seemed incapable of sticking to her mind for more than a few minutes.

It took many months for her to walk without a limp, but she was soon able to get discharged with weekly physical therapy appointments. Harry had become her de-facto appointment-reminder; despite having a daily planner that was full of sticky notes and appointments, Hermione often forgot to check it, which only made the wave of shame worse when she inevitably realized that she'd forgotten an important appointment yet again.

To make things easier, Harry had moved Hermione into one of the rooms behind the kitchen at Grimmauld place. He supposed it would likely have been some sort of guest quarters, as it did not seem particularly lived-in compared to the rest of the house. Hermione was just thankful that there weren't any stairs leading to or from it. She was all right on flat surfaces, but she still stumbled on the stairs, and found herself clinging to the railing like a drunken sailor.

Ginny and the other Weasley brothers didn't seem to treat Hermione any different, but Molly Weasley seemed to be angry and avoided Hermione whenever possible. Hermione supposed that Molly blamed her for Ron's death. It was unfair that she'd have to lose two sons, but then again, if life had taught Hermione anything at all, it was that life was rarely fair and even more rarely kind.

But then Harry and Ginny had gotten married. Hermione had trouble really telling the passage of time, but Harry had a short beard by that point, so it must have been a at least a few years after the incident, since the Harry she'd known in seventh year hadn't needed to shave even after a year of their miserable, Horcrux-hunting trip.

The problem, then, was her. Ginny and Harry had hushed conversations. Hermione heard "mad sister" thrown around. She felt a flash of shame, then anger. She wasn't insane. She was just...

"Broken," she said softly, her tears staining the planner in her lap. No matter what she did, her memory was only improving by tiny increments. She could vaguely recall a time when she'd gotten excellent marks; she'd been on the fast track to academic and career success. Now, she had to face the fact that she would have to live a very different life.

Harry had been the one to bring her the pamphlet advertising the memory healing program at St Brigid's in Ireland.

"Luna suggested it. It's an ancient process," Harry explained, "Lots of meditation and tuning of your magical core. It could be what you've been hoping for."

Hermione could see from the look on his face that it wasn't just what she was hoping for.

In the end, she went.

St Brigid's was tucked away behind what appeared to be a naturally occuring wall of stone at the top of a tall mountain. The castle was said to pre-date Hogwarts by at least a hundred years. A hidden lake ran behind it, but it was much smaller and shallower than the Black Lake. Hermione could see all the way down to the bottom.

"It's a snow-fed lake," Harry said, following her gaze. "Probably not a good idea to go swimming anytime soon."

It was already late June, though, and it really hadn't warmed up much. Tiny patches of snow were still visible on some of the neighboring peaks. They both realized rather quickly that St Brigid's was quite a lot different than St Mungo's. First off, the mediwitches wore more traditional wizarding clothing. And secondly, the castle appeared to be exclusively for female guests. That hadn't been in the informative booklet, but Hermione felt oddly happy about that fact. Once Harry had gone, Hermione was shown to a small cell with a simple bed and a desk were set up for her. A bedside bookcase was filled with books, and a tiny fireplace gave the room a cosy feeling. Hermione loved it at once. She was given linen robes to change into so that she matched the others.

She was then encouraged to engage in a number of enrichment tasks— studying and presenting on topics of interest, helping out in the animal pens, churning butter and gathering eggs. She found the fresh air and the silence exhilarating. And, strangely enough, she discovered a love for singing. She would rise early in the morning and walk slowly around the lake, singing and sometimes skipping stones in a matching rhythm.

Music sharpened her focus, and she found that when she sang or listened to music, she was able to recall more of her memories and her ability to learn increased by leaps and bounds. Soon, she had owled Harry requesting that he send her CD player and album case along with a bucket of batteries.

As time went on, Hermione began to write down her music, and with the help of one of the other residents, began to learn how to play the lute. Her songs weren't sad, but there was a mournful quality to the melody she favoured. It was a song of loss, of memories, of a life in one direction forced down a difficult path. But there was also beauty, love, and power.

And though sometimes the snow lay in heaps on the ground, she would walk and she would sing and a trail of lush, green grasses would follow in her wake.

* * *

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Pain bloomed inside of her and Hermione clutched her chest in the darkness. A bright, scarlet light filled the room, and the scent of ancient magic filled the air. Moments later, she felt a strange pinching sensation around her ring finger and then the light faded away, leaving only an insistent tugging sensation on her finger.

"And what might you be?" she whispered, looking at the red string around her finger.

It pulled back in reply.

"Very well," she said, throwing her thick, winter robes over her head. She pulled on her knee-high boots and moved silently from her small room to follow the string. As she moved in the dim, gray morning, she began to hum to herself, and soon a song escaped her lips.

_Near a pool the maiden sits,_

_And grieves the loss of thee,_

_Where winter surely turns to spring,_

_With life's blood as its key._

_From a time of long long lost,_

_And to a time of joy,_

_May we all know of the cost,_

_To create we must destroy,_

_A string it seems a silly thing,_

_But stronger still is fate,_

_The heart of hearts is fickle,_

_As it's guided to its mate._

_Reveal to all their heart of hearts_

_And guide them to their twin_

_As the Winter surely dies,_

_May the Spring begin._

As she walked, the tugging of the string pulled against her like the beat of a drum. She followed it slowly down a narrow path that came close to the edge of a sheer drop-off, knowing that the ground was uneven and one false step could mean death.

Then, finally, she found herself surrounded by a small copse of trees. In the center, was what appeared to be an old stone well. And inside…

She found _him._

* * *

Severus awoke with a groan, and found that his head was cradled in a warm and comforting lap. The song his rescuer was singing made his heartbeat quicken, as it was something both soothing and nostalgic all at once.

"You're awake," she said, as though he'd done something miraculous.

"So I am," he said, his eyes focusing slowly in the dappled sunlight.

They were in a clearing. She'd spread her cloak over him and what felt like moss lay beneath him. Small trees moved in the slight breeze above him. Her face swam into view, and then sharply. He jerked back with shock, but could not will himself to move away from her.

"I feel like I know you," she said, smiling down at him.

"I should hope so," he said with a derisive snort. "I taught you everything you know about potions and quite a bit of Defense against the Dark Arts."

"No...I mean, I'm sorry, but I...there was an accident." She looked away sadly. "My memory isn't what it used to be. So...anyway, I'm Hermione Granger. It's nice to meet you...er...again."

Severus racked his brain and vaguely recalled some article about Hermione having landed in St Mungo's, but the story hadn't run for long, and he'd assumed that it had been a nervous breakdown or some scandal.

He'd never considered it would be like _this_. He could feel the scars on her magical core from where he lay. How had he not noticed it before? It was almost like legilimency, only..._more_. It was as though he could feel her heart beating in his own chest, and the sensation of her invisible scars was enough to fill him with righteous anger.

He reached his hand up, his rough fingers cupping the side of her cheek, and stroked it slowly. Part of him was utterly flummoxed at the ease with which he did it, but for a growing part of him, it was as second nature as breathing.

"Who?" he asked. "Who did this to you?"

"They never caught him," Hermione replied, "At least, I can't remember that they did."

Severus nodded. Of course. Probably one of the Dark Lord's residual followers. "And now?"

"I live in the castle that's hidden in these mountains," Hermione said, smiling wide. "I sing. And bit by bit, I'm getting better. I know I'll never be back to...before...but I know there's still a lot I _can_ do, so I choose to focus on that."

Severus nodded. She'd truly developed an adult's perspective in the years since he'd last seen her.

"If you don't mind," Hermione said, her voice growing somewhat shy, "could you please tell me your name? I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest."

"Call me Severus," he blurted out before he could hold it back. Mentally, he berated himself. What was he doing? He sounded like a fool.

"Such a pretty name," she said, singing out the syllables."Se-ver-us."

"I'm glad you like it," he said, and it was true. He liked hearing her say his name. He liked the sensation of her fingers running absentmindedly through his hair. He was content to lay his head on her lap forever. And yet part of him was screaming that all of this was utter bloody nonsense.

"I've figured it out," Hermione said, finally. The way she spoke was soft and a little spacy, almost like one of the Lovegoods. "It must be the string."

_String_? Severus racked his brain. The pain. The darkness. The red….the tiny threads digging into his skin until they eviscerated his body.

Severus splayed out his fingers, looking for the string, but there was nothing there. "But I could have sworn it was—"

"Severus." Hermione had pressed her hand against his chest and he stilled. He lay there and breathed deeply for a few minutes. And then, he felt the pull. Only now, instead of his finger, it was in his chest.

I feel...odd," Severus said, frowning.

"We love each other," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "It's not your fault. Nor is it mine...it just… happened."

"Nothing just _happens_," Severus said, his expression more of a scowl than before. Someone did this to us."

"Does that bother you?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Well...to be honest...yes." Severus flinched when he saw Hermione's smile fade. The pain in his chest from hurting her was momentarily excruciating, but it was no worse than any other pain he'd ever experienced. "Not because of you, you must understand...I just cannot abide by being treated like a pawn. Not after all I've been through."

Hermione nodded. "We should have a choice. But it might be a good idea for us to get you sorted before we go off on a mission of revenge."

Severus raised his head and she stood as he rolled onto his side. He could still feel that his clothing was little more than shreds under her cloak and the late winter cold was biting even as he realized that the ground below the ring of trees seemed to be miraculously free of snow.

"Keep the cloak," Hermione said, extending a hand down to him. "You need it more than I do."

He stood and wrapped it around him. It was a bit short, and Severus could feel his legs going prickly with gooseflesh.

"Not a problem," Hermione said, pulling out her wand. She extended the length and added a Warming Charm, then transfigured some of the moss and sticks into a pair of somewhat homely boots. "I hope they fit, but if they don't, I can always resize them."

Severus said nothing, but put the boots on gratefully.

"You know," Hermione said, as he was putting them on, "I find my mind more quickly when you're nearby."

"You seem...different," he replied, standing to his full height. Luckily, it seemed that other than the damage to his clothing, his body appeared intact.

"This way," Hermione said, giving him a sad sort of smile. Severus turned towards where she was pointing and beheld a strange sight. A rounded break in the trees stretched over a narrow path of green grasses and moss. Tiny blooms unfurled delicately from the stems of spring flowers. On either sides of the trees beyond, however, were banks of glowing, pristine snow.

"What magic is this?" he asked.

"A song," she replied vaguely. "Come on, then. I'll have to sneak you into the castle."

"Castle?" A small part of Severus' mind told him he was being an idiot. He was practically repeating her words back to him. But the throbbing in his heart, though utterly alien until that morning, had brought with it a feeling of deep trust and affection. He was quite horrified to realize that he didn't particularly care if Hermione saw him behave in an idiotic manner.

But what was worse was that _she_ also didn't seem to mind it at all.

_I cannot allow myself to develop some ridiculous attachment with this woman just because something fishy and magical is going on_, he reminded himself.

Still, his traitorous heart beat a bit too quickly when she took his hand and led him out of the protective canopy of the trees.

* * *

"The castle primarily houses women," Hermione explained, as they dashed into her cell. "It reminds me a bit of a historic Muggle nunnery, to be honest, though there's no religious belief required to live here. A lot of other residents are..._survivors_...and many of them are especially wary of men."

"Understandable," Severus said, thinking about his mum, and how she would probably have appreciated a place like this.

Severus looked around her room. It was practical and held no frills, but the atmosphere was homey and relaxing. A simple dark brown teapot hung on a hook over a small table, and two cups hung beside it. Underneath were a tray and a box of assorted bagged teas, as well as a few square silver containers. A small bed was tucked against one of the walls, the thick duvet as white and fluffy as a cloud. There were plenty of bookcases recessed into the walls around the room, and a small personal bookcase built into the nightstand. A small wardrobe stood on the far side of the room next to a chair, which appeared to have most of the contents of her wardrobe draped over it.

"I don't think I have any books specifically regarding a red thread," Hermione said apologetically, "but there's a full library in the western tower, and I have a friend there who might be able to find something relevant. Feel free to transfigure any of my extra robes. There's fresh spring water in a jug by the door and plenty of non-perishable goods you can snack on if you're hungry."

With that, she left him in the room after writing a note on a small piece of parchment.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"Ah," she said, somewhat sadly, "I...I'm not sure if I'll remember everything clearly once I get there. But if I write it down…"

"I have complete faith in your ability," Severus blurted out, his desire to reassure her overpowering his innate need to be sour and silent.

Her lips turned up in the smallest of smiles, and it only encouraged his idiot mouth.

"I shall anxiously await your return," Severus said, bowing his head slightly. He hated how her smile made his heart skip a beat, yet somehow it only made him crave it more.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, closing the door slowly behind her.

* * *

Severus found a scratchy brown robe in the back of Hermione's wardrobe and lengthened it enough to make it serviceable for his needs. As he removed the ragged shreds of his own clothing and hung Hermione's winter cloak on a hanger, he mused to himself just how much of a left turn his day had taken. If anyone had told him the day before that he would be woken rudely and dragged through a portal by a magic string into the arms of Hermione Granger and then snuck into her room, he would have laughed them out of his shop.

Though, the more he thought about it, if anyone _had_ told him that would happen, they'd be the first person he'd suspect was responsible.

Severus racked his brain, trying to remember if there was anything odd or out of place the day before, but it had all seemed as normal as things could generally be expected to be in a wizarding village. The only thing he could think of was the proximity of Imbolc, but it was a celebration of the spring and there hadn't been any unusual signs. Of course, he'd pooh-poohed the idea of putting up one of St. Brigid's crosses in his window. Silly superstition, the lot of it!

But he had to admit that at this point, he needed all the help he could get.

"Being in love may not be the worst thing in the world," he mused, "but I refuse to be forced into it!"

His fingers trailed across the spines of the titles in Hermione's bookcases. He found a few interesting tomes on herbs, but nothing particularly significant. There was a history book that seemed a bit promising, but there was only a small paragraph on Imbolc, and it didn't really mention anything useful beyond the usual general information about rites and festivals. Severus couldn't help but think that he was missing something.

He circled back to what he _did_ know. The seemingly incorporeal string on his left ring finger- the heart-line. Also, he wasn't the only one affected. Was it truly everyone who had been dragged into columns of light? He thought back to that chaotic morning. He hadn't seen any children or teenagers. And considering that the patisserie next to his place of business included a family of five with all three children under the age of ten, Severus was certain he would have noticed them. The other thing he could remember was being dragged by a few shops with wide eyes of their adult occupants peering out the windows. So there were those who were not affected at all. But why? What was different?

Severus glanced back at the book he'd left open, his eye drawn to the image of St. Brigid's cross. "Perhaps they had this up in their window?" He couldn't remember clearly. It had been fairly dark out in the early morning and he had been fighting that bloody magic string.

Stymied yet again, Severus set to making some tea and a snack for when Hermione returned. It helped him to focus and reduce his stress levels to focus on a mundane task. It also left him free to puzzle out the meaning of his newfound feelings of love, and what, if anything, he might do because of it.

He certainly hoped that Hermione would have a more fruitful time gathering information.

* * *

Hermione had so many books in tow that she had to point her wand at the door to open it. Severus was nowhere to be found on first glance as she hefted in her bag of books. When she closed the door behind her, however, she found him there, standing behind her like a protective shadow.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, blushing at how easily he had startled her. "I'm glad you're still here."

"Did you find anything useful?" he asked, his dark eyes fixed on her bag.

"I found one book on ancient pagan rites that seems like it will have a lot of the information we might need. Other than that, all I could find was a handful of books on Imbolc and there were three that held any mention in their tables of contents regarding red strings _or_ love magic, but not both."

"Let me see," Severus said, motioning with his hand for her to hand a book over. When she did, he divided them in half. "We can work as a team. You can work on the love and infatuation spellcraft angle and I will work on the ritual angle. Is that amentable to you, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, her cheeks turning slightly pink at the sound of her name. "Are you...are you sure you want me to help? You know about my...memory thing."

"We have plenty of parchment, do we not?" Severus gestured over to the blank sheafs of paper on Hermione's desk. "We can both write notes and compare them once we are finished."

Hermione nodded, then clasped at her chest. "You are right. I'm sorry...my heart just feels so funny...when we talk."

Severus, who was feeling quite the same, tried to smile reassuringly. "It is merely this affliction that was thrust upon us. We will bear it." He was certain it looked more like a grimace, so he patted her hand, and the touch sent a hot line of need up his arm. He hungered to grasp her, to wrap his arms around her body as tightly as possible, and to press his lips against hers—_no. It would be wrong to take advantage._

Out of all of the things he was certain of, that was the thing of which he was most certain of all.

Hermione pulled her desk away from the wall and placed it between the chair and the bed so that Severus could sit at the chair and she could sit on the bed. They faced one another, their notes and their books before them.

The silence that followed was only punctuated by the scratching sound of pens on parchment and the whisper of pages being turned. By the time both of them had closed the last book in their respective pile, each had a stack of notes several pages long.

"I'm feeling a bit peckish," Hermione said, "How about you?"

"I could eat, or not," Severus replied noncommittally, but his traitorous stomach growled in protest before he could hide it. He immediately wanted to sink into the floor and disappear, but unfortunately, that wasn't happening anytime soon.

Hermione giggled, her smile widening. "I'll swipe a little extra from the kitchens."

She left quickly, and Severus decided he would try his hand at steeping tea. It wasn't long before the robust scent of the steeping leaves filled the air, and Hermione returned with what Severus was certain was a feast.

He hadn't realized just how hungry he was; apparently they'd both been researching for the better part of the day, and it was nearly sunset. He was somewhat used to skipping meals, but he also didn't normally spend his days dealing with random magical portals transporting him thousands of miles and depositing him at the feet of the woman he was now magically compelled to love.

The worst thing wasn't his physical attraction to her. He'd controlled his baser desires around those who had inspired them for many years. No, what was worse was the feeling of deep-seated trust in the woman across from him. A woman he'd not seen in years and, to be honest, had been classified by his brain as a mere student as far as he was concerned; nothing more, nothing less. But now, in a span of hours that totaled less than a full day, he had grown deeply bonded to her in a way that horrified his conscious mind precisely _because_ it was something he had deeply desired for so long that he'd given up on finding it.

There was a feeling of panic beating underneath his rising desire and sudden trust. A sense of doom, of knowing that this would end badly just the way that all interactions with others seemed to end badly, filled him, and he tried to push it down and simply enjoy it.

Of course, it wasn't that simple. It never was.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hermione was pouring his tea and he gratefully took the cup, nodding his thanks because he couldn't quite bring himself to speak.

"What do you remember...of me?" he asked. It was a fair question, but he still felt terrible asking it.

"I remember that you used to teach at Hogwarts," Hermione said, frowning a bit as she pulled up the memories. "You were really strict and pretty mean to everyone. You...killed Dumbledore. But...but there were reasons for all of it."

"They weren't good enough reasons," Severus muttered.

"I...it was a war." Hermione grew quiet, her gaze locked onto the teapot.

"I could still have done better," Severus replied.

They both ate in silence, seemingly absorbed by their own thoughts.

"You know," Hermione ventured, pulling up one of her pages of notes, "I found some mentions of a red string appearing in this book on the history of conflicts between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. It seems that there was a plague of some sort that decimated the population. A coven of three powerful witches created a spell that would ensure healthy children with intact magical cores would be born, but there was a disagreement. Two of the witches were practical and felt that the magic should affect current unions and that it would be up to local councils to decide upon pairing up reproductive-age singles, but the third in secret added an element that would ensure that only compatible individuals would be matched."

Severus nodded. "That makes sense. I found passages related to fertility rites for same sex unions to ensure that two wizards or two witches could healthily conceive and give birth to biologically related offspring that shared their magical heritage. The details, however, were vague, and I assume that many of the more explicit books detailing these practices have been discouraged or suppressed by the pure-blooded influence on the Ministry, as they are more concerned with consolidating money and power from their families instead of providing healthy unions born of a deep mutual romantic love."

Hermione grimaced. "It's disgusting. People should be free to marry who they love."

"Perhaps," Severus said, "but even that is not always the case. After all..we..._have_ _feelings_ for one another, yet I wouldn't exactly consider it a good reason for us to marry."

Hermione flushed scarlet. "Well..not if you put it like that." She worried at her bottom lip for a long moment, then finally spoke. "Is it bad of me to enjoy these feelings? It's...been awhile. Ever since Ron...the accident—"

"Not to minimize your feelings," Severus interrupted, "but before this morning, you didn't know that I existed, much less that I was potentially suitable to be your object of affection." His heart throbbed painfully as he said it. He knew he was causing her pain, but he also knew that it had to be said. There was no sense in humouring this magically-induced charade simply because of a few silly feelings. "While you have shown me kindness and hospitality that I am supremely grateful for, I cannot in good conscience pretend that there is more between us, despite what the magic of the red string might be compelling me to feel."

Hermione nodded, but Severus could see she was blinking rapidly. His blunt way of speaking had hurt her yet again. It was physically painful for him to see her, but in some sick way, he relished it as well. _This is what you deserve so don't you forget it_.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione grabbed her notes and leafed through them with single-minded focus, then grabbed a book from Severus' pile. After a few minutes flipping through it, she tossed the book face up onto the table with a loud slam.

"There! I knew I'd seen it earlier!" she exclaimed, causing Severus to lean back, startled. "There's an old circle of stone in the forest west of here. It would take multiple days for a Muggle to travel, but we could Apparate there fairly quickly. As you can see here in _Seasonal Rites_," she flipped open another book and leafed through the pages until she found the spot, "this book mentions a ritual that can be used to break the spell."

"And what, exactly does it entail?" Severus asked. He had, regrettably, not gotten to that final book, and now silently berated himself for being less than thorough.

Hermione looked at the passage and frowned. "The original is in Gaelic but I am pretty sure it says something like…'two must stand before the ring and be judged. They must show their love and deny it three times to break it.' Only, of course, the original version rhymes."

Severus turned the book around to look at it and, after a long moment, nodded. His head felt thick with improper thoughts, and he had to force himself to say something, anything, or he was certain he would lose even the semblance of focus. "Er...yes. That does appear to be the basic gist."

"So you can read Gaelic?" Hermione asked.

"What? Severus blinked. "Well, no, but...I trust your...assessment."

Hermione closed the book with a thump. "Well, then it's settled."

"What, exactly, again?" Severus felt the absolute opposite of settled.

"I get to go _with_ you," Hermione said, her voice filling with excitement.

Severus let out a deep sigh. It was either that or rushing over to her to wrap his arms around her. Hermione looked as though she were considering the merits of a similar act. Their mutual feelings of love were beginning to intensify. _But it's all fake. Just my luck._

They cleaned up their dishes and set the room to rights, their minds on each other every time they came close to brushing their bodies against one another. Hermione returned the books, but kept all their notes and placed them in a satchel. She slipped the book of rites with a bookmark poking out of the top down the side and buttoned the top. "Just in case we need them," she said brightly.

Severus tried not to say anything, and purposefully avoided touching her. He had the sudden feeling that if he did, they'd find themselves on the floor without much in the way of clothing or inhibitions, and considering what he'd just learned about the fertility aspect of the spell, it would be quite likely that they'd be tied together everafter by a new life not long afterwards. Severus steeled himself and clenched his fists. He was very lucky that he'd spent the majority of his life controlling himself in impossible situations.

"Severus?"

"Huh?" Severus blinked. Hermione had just said something but he'd been far too busy stewing in his own mind to hear her.

"I said, we need to hold hands when we Apparate," Hermione said in a casual tone of voice, but she was squirming a bit uncomfortably as she said it. "Neither of us have been there, so we have a better chance of getting there on the first try if we visualize it together."

"Hermione...I...I don't—"

"Look. I know you don't want to love me for a minute more than you have to, so please. Just...take my thumb or something!" Hermione's voice was tinged with anger, and she thrust her hand out at him.

Severus flinched. "No...that wasn't—"

"It's fine." Hermione's voice was soft and choked with bitterness. "After all, it makes sense. Who would want to be tied to a broken thing like me?"

She turned away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, and Severus could feel his chest constrict painfully as the soft sounds of her trying to stop herself from crying filled the air. Still, he could not bring himself to comfort her. If he did...he was not certain that he would be able to control himself.

_No, Hermione. It is I who is the broken one._

He'd done it again— he'd hurt her. But perhaps it was for the best. She would likely not be able to stand him the moment _she_ was no longer compelled to love _him_. He didn't say it aloud, though. He'd said quite enough already.

Finally, Hermione turned and sniffed loudly, her face still a bit red and puffy, and she dabbed at her face with her scarf. Pulling out her wand, she silently summoned a pair of soft mittens from her wardrobe and carefully put one of them over her hand, then held the other out to him.

Carefully, he took the mitten from her and placed it on his hand, then slid it into her palm. "I'm ready," he said, his voice soft and flat. He did not look at her.

The Side-Along Apparation pulled them close together and with a sickening crack, they disappeared.

* * *

Hermione hunched over, retching into the snow-covered bushes as Severus held her hair back. It was the least he could do. Apparently Side-Along Apparation and strange love magic spells did not mix well.

_And mental trauma. Don't forget mental trauma._

"I'm fine," Hermione said thickly, waving him away.

Severus said nothing. He deserved everything she saw fit to throw at him.

It didn't take long to find the formation from the book. They jutted out of the ground like black, stony claws.

Hermione pulled the notes out of her bag, then scraped her foot along the snowy ground. "It looks like this is the place where we should stand."

"_Ventus_," Severus said, kicking up a small wind to clear the ground of snow. Hermione stepped back, her hair wild around her face. She looked a bit like a small lion, which made Severus' heart grow warm, but her gloomy expression pulled him free from his musings quickly enough.

There, below their feet, was a circular disk of stone. It was intricately carved, and in the dying sunlight, Severus could see only a few runes that he recognized. It was obviously very old, yet the stone was not worn down the way one might expect it to be.

"So," Severus said. "We stand in the ring."

"Yes," Hermione said, taking her place across from him while also keeping a purposeful gap of space between them.

"Then what?"

"We must be judged." Hermione frowned. "I'm not really sure how this is supposed to work."

Severus thought back to what she'd read aloud before. "We must show our love and deny it three times to break this..compulsion."

"It should set everything back to the way it was," Hermione said. "If finding out that your heart was changed by someone playing around with old magic is _normal_."

"A show of love...affection…" Severus frowned, then pressed his left fist into the palm of his right hand in an expression of realization. "Like that, perhaps…"

He held open his arms, then, and Hermione stepped back, looking at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?" she asked, wrinkling her nose a little.

Severus fought the urge to swoop forward and wrap his arms around her. He took a deep breath and tried to look as stern as possible. _Maintain control_. "I believe a hug might suffice as a show of love."

"Oh." Hermione shuffled her feet and looked down at the ground. "I guess that might work."

She stepped forward slowly, almost reluctantly, and Severus could see that she was still conflicted from his earlier rejection. Still, there was a sense of magnetism that magically pulled them both to one another, and she finally closed the distance, resting her head gently against his chest.

Instantly, Severus felt his belly swoop with an unbelievably strong desire to hold her tightly and never let her go. What would have normally been a trite concept to him was suddenly as essential and immediate as his need to draw breath.

_I have to do this_. _Just think of it like an obligation._

But it was no obligation to finally wrap his arms around the warmth of her, to feel her pressed ever more tightly against his frame until he could barely think. He breathed in her soft, warm scent; parchment and leather and the faint scent of bergamot orange.

"Heavenly," he murmured, before he could stop himself.

She nuzzled into the fabric of his chest and sighed so happily, he thought his heart might burst.

Around them, the stones began to glow, ancient runes lighting with a weak reddish glow.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Severus gasped, forcing himself to slowly withdraw his arms from the hug.

"The book didn't say, but it's doing _something_." Hermione said. "Perhaps...another hug?" Her voice was plaintive and needy, but Severus could not blame her. He felt exactly the same.

He wrapped his arms around her again, the feeling as natural and automatic as a heartbeat, but as the moments wore on, there was no change to the stones.

"Perhaps…" Hermione trailed off. "_I_ should hug _you_."

Severus opened his arms, stepped back, and then held them down at his sides, his fingers twitching a bit nervously. He'd never really received a hug beyond a few over-enthusiastic hug-tackles that Lily had given him back when they were in their first year of school. He'd made a habit of always having his hands free, always being on guard. There was a certain vulnerability in allowing someone to hug him. His heart sang its delight at being _chosen_, _wanted_, but still he fought it. _It's not real. None of this is real._

* * *

Hermione approached him cautiously, almost as though she expected him to bolt.

"I'll be gentle," she said, almost more to herself than to him.

She opened her arms, and slowly brought them around him. Though the top of her head only came to his chest, her arms fit around him perfectly. He stiffened momentarily, but then he was bending forward, his head resting gently on her shoulder. She could feel the soft warmth of his breath clouding on her neck, and it made her eyes prick with happy tears. He seemed nearly boneless as he pressed his weight against her, and she wanted nothing more than to memorize every sensation and hide it in her heart forever.

The stones began to hum, and she could see them take on a greenish glow. Her suggestion had worked, and yet she was filled with a bittersweet sadness. Her mind had grown sharper than it had been for as long as she could remember with him by her side. Certainly, her logical mind knew that the magic that bonded them together was artificial at best. Someone had done this to them, and she found that she hated them more because now it meant that once it was undone, Severus would never want to speak with her again.

_But if this is all I will ever get, it is better than nothing_.

She willed herself to remember, even if she could only remember long enough to write it down.

Severus was almost perfectly still in her arms, other than his quiet, even breathing. She might have thought he had fallen asleep, but finally, he whispered to her in an intimate manner that made her heart skip a beat, "Clever girl."

"Thank you," she said, blinking until her blurry vision cleared. Crying over a hug was absurd. But still, she released him, and he straightened himself so that he towered over her once more, his cheeks flushed with contentment as he looked at her.

"What...next?" he asked, his words slow and measured. It was almost as though he'd eaten a large meal and was utterly stuffed.

"Well, hugging seemed to have worked," Hermione said, "so what about holding hands?"

Severus nodded and held out his hand. She took it.

Nothing happened.

"I guess it couldn't be that easy," Hermione said with a frown.

"Well…" Severus' dark eyes met hers, then slid lower. "There is...one other thing I can think of."

Hermione went pink, her fingers instinctively rising to press against her lips. "A-are you sure?"

"It would certainly be fitting, if not a bit cliche," Severus said, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of hair behind Hermione's ear. "After all, a kiss often breaks the spell in fairy tales."

They both stood in silence for a long moment, reflecting on how their entire ordeal had been _anything_ but a fairytale.

"Well...I guess...we could _try_." Hermione squeaked out the last word, her face scarlet.

"Only if you are certain," Severus said, his expression conflicted. He took a halting step forward.

"Absolutely certain," Hermione replied, stepping forward and closing the distance between them.

Severus wrapped one arm around her, and slowly tipped her chin back with the other. His eyes were half-lidded with concentration. "If you want me to stop, just say the word."

The pressure of Severus' warm, dry lips made Hermione's head go a bit fuzzy with pleasure, and she moaned softly as he unconsciously drew her more tightly against his body. They both felt tipsy with the taste of one another, their breathing ragged in their chests as they released their pent-up passion. She tasted him tentatively, and he allowed her deeper and before they both knew it, they were properly snogging, oblivious to the world.

Slowly, they sank together onto the stone dias, and Severus managed to pull off his outer cloak, laying it in the snow, their lips still touching. Hermione lay back onto it and he followed, their bodies pressed tightly together, the spell running unfettered across their bodies.

"More...more…" Hermione gasped, fumbling with her clothing, and Severus, too began to do the same.

Severus bent down, his head hazy with magic and lust, his resolve finally shattering to nothing. "I...I want...I….Hermione…please..."

Hermione's eyes eyes went wide and clear at the sound of her name, and as he kissed her gently, she whispered, "No," into his mouth, and he stilled, the haze falling away until all that was left was the horror at what he'd nearly allowed himself to do.

"No," he agreed, his whisper forceful against her lips. They couldn't. It was wrong for a hundred reasons, but the biggest of all was that he didn't deserve to take pleasure in her body.

He was a bastard, but he'd die before he allowed himself to become a rapist.

Suddenly, a warm light wrapped around them, and they froze, mouths still locked together. The golden glow that washed over them seemed to pulse like a living thing around them, and a resounding crack rang through the air, though neither moved. The backlash of power was far too great for the circle to withstand and as the two held one another closer, the ancient stone around them crumbled away, tiny bits tumbling onto the snow. When it finally faded, they reluctantly pulled themselves apart.

"Did it work?" Hermione asked, her voice soft and thick. She placed her hand over her heart, her lips and cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. "I feel...I feel different. It's not the same as before."

Severus cleared his throat, hating how his cheeks and lips burned pleasurably with the memory of her skin. He took a deep breath and sat back on his knees, giving himself a moment to reflect on his inner state of mind. The almost instinctive, unnatural pull was gone. But as he looked back at her and beheld Hermione's star-struck expression, his heart instantly flipped over in his chest. Instinctively, his lip curled, but still she gave him a _look—_one that told him that he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself.

Severus relented, his face scrunching into an expression of exhaustion. Then, he held out his hand.

"What—" Hermione started.

"We cannot make any assumptions," Severus replied, trying to keep his voice steady."Further study is required."

"S-study?" Still, Hermione took his hand and allowed him to pull her up to a sitting position.

"Just the one should be sufficient," Severus said, his eyes growing half-lidded almost instinctively as her face grew closer to his.

"For science?" Hermione breathed.

"For science."

Before he could move, Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips against his softly. Severus meant to kiss her back chastely, but somehow they found them rapidly teetering on the edge of snogging territory yet again.

Severus knew he had to stop before things got out of hand, but his body simply would not cooperate. It was different than when he was under the compulsion of the red string spell, of that he was sure, but it was still powerful and he couldn't bear to give the feeling fluttering in his chest a name, because then he knew it would be all over.

Hermione finally pulled away and stared at Severus with a steady-eyed gaze that was equal parts worry and defiance. Her bottom lip trembled slightly as she let out a shaky breath. "Was that..._sufficient_ enough?"

Severus struggled to find the words to reply. "It...yes. Yes it was. Er...thank you."

"We should get back," Hermione said, standing shakily and holding out her hand.

"Of course," Severus replied, taking it. There was no jolt of magic, only the soft warmth of her skin against his. Her touch was, however, almost more alluring than when he'd known it was all a lie.

He hated himself for wanting it.

Then, before he could think of anything else, they Apparated away, leaving the destroyed stone circle behind them.

* * *

"You should stay," Hermione said, her hands in her pockets, as they approached the castle. "It's dark, and the closest Wizarding settlement where you could procure a portkey is at least half a day's walk."

"I've caused you enough trouble," Severus said, wrapping his cloak around himself more tightly.

"I insist," Hermione replied, "I...I admit I have selfish reasons for doing so."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow in askance.

"Yes," Hermione looked bashful, "I...I still remember things from this morning that would normally be hazy by now. It's not the red string magic that helped me. It just seems to be...you."

A pulse of pleasure shot through Severus as his mind replayed that moment above her in the stone ring. She _wanted_ him too...but no...it was impossible, not without the compulsion.

"Some things are best left forgotten," Severus said, looking away.

Hermione rushed forward, her hand tight on his sleeve, and she pulled it until he bent forward and met her eyes. "No. They aren't. It doesn't make things better, and then you just make the same mistakes over and over again. You say silly things. You get confused and frightened even though you know you should feel safe. There are things you think you should remember, and sometimes there's an outline where the trauma once was- you can still feel the pain, still feel the suffering, but you don't know _why_. I should know. I've probably forgotten more than you'll ever know."

Severus felt a flash of anger and pulled back. "Are you certain you'd rather be like me and see the face of your dying mentor as you fling him off of the Astronomy Tower with Dark Magic when you close your eyes every night? How about all of the times the Dark Lord orders you to sit while he tortures and murders your colleagues in front of you? Honestly, I'd rather know nothing than know what I do. None of it is worth a single Sickle— it's just pain, unending pain that I alone will have to live with for the rest of my life!"

"You don't have to be alone!" Hermione shouted, her eyes shining fiercely. "You act like you have to suffer by yourself, but you don't! Your burdens aren't there for to carry in some kind of demented masochistic slog towards the grave! There are plenty of people out there that care about you if you'd just stop playing the self-pity card and _open your goddamn eyes_!"

Severus regarded her with a dark look and sighed deeply. "Who, then?"

"What?"

"Who, then, cares about a soulless monster such as myself?" Severus asked. "I have a business, but it relies on a pseudonym and a glamour. Minerva wouldn't even look at me when she visited me at St Mungo's. Potter and his gaggle of offspring give me looks of pity and reverence that I don't deserve. Albus has been dead and gone for over ten years now. And L— my best friend...gone far longer than even that."

"I do."

Severus opened his eyes in surprise, his expression hooded with suspicion. "_What_ did you just say?"

"I do. I care."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Hermione bared her teeth. "You think I don't know my own mind? I'm not crazy. I'm just trying to live with an injury that affects my memory. Don't tell me you've suddenly become a dunderhead, Severus."

"Why, you—" Severus reached down to grab Hermione's hand to pull it away from his sleeve, and Hermione took the opportunity to let go, taking advantage of his momentum to carry him forward into her shoulder. Swiftly, she wrapped her arms around him. Severus began to struggle, but she held on until he relaxed in her arms, his hands reaching slowly up to wrap around her.

"Stay," she said softly. "Please."

Severus took a shaky breath and nodded into her shoulder. "One night."

* * *

"I feel so naughty sneaking you in like this," Hermione said, giggling, as they sped through her door.

"I am not surprised in the least considering all of the late-night escapade you used to engage in when you were at school," Severus drawled. "At least you did a far better job keeping that little miscreant of a Chosen One alive than I did."

"Harry hardly ever listens to me," Hermione said with a sniff. "That's why I had to get good at threatening to hex his bits off if he was truly acting like a numpty."

"A formidable and useful skill to be sure," Severus agreed.

The soft light in the room and scent of old leather was comforting, and Severus found himself smiling softly when Hermione returned with a basket of food nicked from the kitchens, her smile widening when she saw he'd arranged the tea and carefully moved all of the books they'd been using earlier to the desk.

They ate and chatted about various potions-related topics, both carefully making sure to stay off topics related to what had transpired earlier that day. Severus specifically found himself growing endeared to her company. She truly was informed about his focus of study, despite having more of an interest in arithmancy and ancient runes. A few times, she even stood up to grab a book on the subject to elaborate on something she didn't know as much about, but she also kept giving him a grateful look that made Severus' heart twinge.

"There's just something about you," she said, as he cleaned out the pot and left it to dry on the hook. He turned, and she was standing patiently behind him. Slowly, she extended her hand, pressing the palm of her hand under his jaw, and drawing him to her gently.

Severus went so, so still. In the past, stillness had protected him when danger was close, or at least minimized the damage, but this was different. He was frozen by the utter terror that he would ruin this moment. He could not, _would_ _not_ let it happen.

"Thank you," Hermione said, pulling gently until his forehead was level with her lips, and pressed a soft kiss against the crease at his brow. Severus shivered deliciously. She pressed a kiss on the bridge of his nose, then down the tip of it, then pressed a kiss to each cheek until they coloured, her final kiss reserved for his lips.

Severus moved on instinct, wrapping his arms around her in a shockingly familiar manner, his kisses full of every ounce of need that had been growing in him since he'd broken free of the curse. It had been wrong, so wrong to do anything when the magic had forced their hearts, but now, there was something there that was deeper than magic, deeper and more real than anything Severus had ever felt in his life.

Time seemed to speed up and slow at the same time, and before long they were lying together, their bodies bare and slick with sweat, their mouths and minds buzzing with desire. And there, in that soft, warm, safe room, they finally said with their bodies all of the things they could not say to one another in the cold light of day.

"Hermione," Severus breathed, the warmth of his breath rustling the curls of her hair as she slept.

She pulled him closer in her sleep, and he warmer and more secure than he'd ever felt in his whole life.

And not once did he feel undeserving of it.

* * *

It was a cold spring, and the snow did not thaw until midway through May. The aftermath of the Imbolc Incident (as it was called in all the papers for months afterwards) was many-faceted. At first, the fallout seemed to be tied to all of the witches and wizards that had been compelled into extramarital unions, leading to marital strife, and plenty of chaos across Wizarding society. Not long after, it was found that each of these unions had produced a double pregnancy- not only were the women pregnant, but due to the type of magic used in creating the red string, the wizards were also inexplicably with child as well. It was just as Hermione and Severus had read— the magic had developed offspring with intact magical cores in both partners. And, within the nine to ten months, there came a boom in the magical population. The birthing ward at St Mungo's had to be expanded three times over, and several other Wizarding birthing-specific centres had to be opened all around the UK.

Hermione could not bear to be without Severus after their fateful night together, and was by his side in her traveling cloak and with her things gathered in her trunk, her hand snug in his. Severus, who was infinitely relieved that she'd decided this for both of them, stood silently beside her like a protective shadow.

They moved in together straight away and the shop eventually remodeled into a dual-purpose establishment where Hermione sold protective runes in addition to Severus' potions. In the wake of the Red String Pregnancies, which seemed to be out in throngs in the streets of Hogsmeade, it seemed almost boring when Hermione realized her shared condition a few months after the shop remodel was completed. Shortly after, they married quietly, in a small ceremony out near the Black Lake. It turned out that Minerva and the rest of the Hogwarts staff hadn't hated Severus at all, and that it had been his own self-defeating attitude and use of glamours that had kept them away. As Hermione's belly filled out, Severus would find himself stroking it lovingly as they sat together on the couch reading, his heart singing as she sighed with pleasure under his touch. Never, in his life, could he have hoped that he was deserving of a family of his own, and yet, in a twisted sort of way the compulsion had accomplished what it had been meant to do by bringing him to the feet of the love of his life.

There was only one final piece to the whole sordid puzzle— who had been the one to cast the spell in the first place? It was obscure enough that the number of books available with the instructions for casting the spell were owned by few, if any families. Unfortunately, by the time the Aurors tracked down the final copy to a dingy, rundown manor out in the English countryside, they were far too late.

The sunken corpse of the culprit lay in the entrance hall, long dead.

The manor had belonged to Cynthia Brown, great-aunt to one Lavender Brown, and had been left to the poor, werewolf-mangled girl after the war. "Left to" was a bit of a euphemism, as her family had basically abandoned her there, leaving her to roam its mouldy walls like a wraith. Desperate to pull a sense of normality back into her life, Lavender had apparently decided that what she'd needed was Ron Weasley, her old high school boyfriend who had jilted her many years ago.

It had been her wand that had cast the Imperius on Ron Weasley while he was walking with his fiance, forcing him to hit Hermione with the Cruciatus spell that nearly reduced her to a vegetable. Harry and Ginny had been the ones to find Hermione, and had seen Ron running from the scene, and later, when a body had been found in the river matching Ron's description, they assumed that he'd taken his own life in a fit of guilt, but the truth was much darker.

Lavender had ordered Ron to accompany her home to play out the wedded bliss that she'd decided she needed to make everything go back to the way it had been before everything had gone wrong. In a frenzy, she'd held a fake wedding with paper cutouts she'd drawn of her family and attached to the wall with a Permanent Sticking charm. Aurors found the photo she'd taken and placed on the mantle with a vacant-eyed Ron Weasley staring at the camera. It was as they passed the hall where the paper people still stood, their edges chewed by rats and spotted with black mold, that they heard the banging from down below and found Lavender Brown's final secret.

The Imperius curse hadn't lasted as long as Lavender would have liked.

After a wedding night filled with carnal activity with his vacant body, Ron had come back to himself, and Lavender had flown into a rage, tying him down and having her way with him while he begged for her to stop. She poured potions down his throat for vitality and energy and reproductive vigor and continued to use him in this way for many months, her mind growing more frayed each time she found that she was not pregnant with his child. She was convinced that only this could truly reverse the scars and the desire for raw meat she got at every full moon—for while she was not a true werewolf, she was no longer "pure" enough for her family to want anything to do with her.

Ron was eventually hidden away in the root cellar and left to survive on what roots remained, killing rats and forcing himself to swallow the slimy charm-sealed canned fruit that still stood on the old stone shelves near the back. The wooden stairs had rotted away long ago, leaving a deep pit bricked all the way around to keep it icy cold year round. When she wanted to force herself upon him again after trying yet another fertility spell or potion, Lavender forced Ron to drink a compulsion potion, which she lowered down into the pit, and ensured he had fully taken before she'd let him out for a short time. If he refused, she'd torture him until he did.

Each time, she'd curse him when his seed didn't take, and Ron, who'd been psychologically destroyed to the point of going nonverbal every time she touched him, had still glared at her defiantly and told her, "nothing would dare grow in your putrid womb, you bitch."

Eventually, she had found the book, hidden behind a false wall in the library. In desperation, she'd sought out the ring and cast the spell, knowing for certain that if only Ron could be shown that he was her soul mate, that they would finally be able to have a family.

But it hadn't worked. The magic had forsaken her. The ring had never materialized.

Lavender was alone.

She'd broken when she'd seen Ron's red string glowing in the dark in the cellar, had laughed at Ron, telling him that the wards around the house extended underground and that he'd never be able to leave, that he'd be entombed in this house with her forever. If she couldn't have his love, then nobody would.

She'd drunk Basilisk Venom. It was obvious to everyone that she'd wanted to ensure that her quasi-werewolf immunities could not stop her from a quick death.

When the Aurors opened the door to the root cellar, the figure that huddled down at the bottom of the shaft of light looked more skeletal than human, but Ron Weasley was still alive, and he even waved to the Aurors, rasping out, "took you long enough."

Harry and Hermione and the entire Weasley clan were beyond overjoyed to find out that Ron was alive and had not actually been in control of his actions when Hermione was attacked. It took over a year of intensive physical and psychological therapy, but Ron finally found a flat in London and was able to begin moving forward with his life with the support of his friends and family.

As for Hermione and Severus? They lived quietly in their home above their shop, their family growing only once more before it was complete. Their eldest son, Edwin, was gifted in runes like his mother and played as a Beater on the Hogwarts Quidditch team, while their youngest, Sedna, was gifted in herbology and had a high affinity with magical creatures. Their lives weren't perfect, of course, but they supported and loved one another for the rest of their lives.

After all, sometimes imperfect is just what you need.


End file.
